


nec numquam videar satur futurus

by TheoMiller



Category: Fantastic Four (2015)
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-05-22 17:40:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6088585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheoMiller/pseuds/TheoMiller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fetching things from the lab supply room is a two-person job. Clearly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	nec numquam videar satur futurus

**Author's Note:**

> Title is entirely blamed upon my love of ancient Roman poetry. It's best translated "never could I be satisfied or sated", or more literally, "never, never - it seems to me - will I be satisfied".
> 
> Also, Certain People are being wusses about writing filthy exhibitionist sex and somehow I ended up beating Certain People to the punch.

"This isn't a good idea," Reed says.

Victor would be a bit more inclined to believe him if the youngest man weren't arching into his touch. He kisses Reed when he starts to say something else, cutting off the flow of reasoning that Victor is highly, entirely uninterested in. Reed is so easy to distract like this - so much for his brains, if he can't maintain a rational thought with a little external stimuli.

Of course, Victor's also aware that he's good at this. It's all too easy to reduce Richards to a wanton, needy mess. He has his leg between Reed's, and occasionally rocks his thigh up against the bulge in Reed's sensible khakis. Reed moans into his mouth, and Victor swallows the sound down.

He slips a hand between them and Reed makes a tiny noise in his throat but doesn't even try to tell Victor not to, and Victor undoes the button roughly and yanks the zipper open.

"Oh, god," says Reed.

Victor slaps his free hand against his mouth. "Do you want me to do this?" He asks.

Reed nods, his lips moving against Victor's fingers as he tries to talk. He lets go for a second. "What was that?"

" _Please_ ," says Reed, his voice below a whisper. "Victor - "

He clamps the hand back in place. "You have to be quiet," he says.

Reed grips the shelf behind him tightly, knuckles white, and Victor squeezes at the hardness of Reed's erection, still trapped in his boxers. "Don't move," he orders. "Not a sound, Richards."

He drops to his knees and frees Reed's cock from the confines of the dull grey cotton.

Reed inhales sharply when he immediately wraps his mouth around the head, but Victor pins his hips to the shelves before he can do anything stupid, like push it too far down Victor's throat.

He squirms above Victor, coming dangerously close to knocking a bottle of WD-40 down, and there are tiny, choked off noises every time Victor presses his tongue against the glans, but he doesn't disobey, doesn't even try to put his hands in Victor's hair. He's a shaky mess quickly, breathing quickly and shallowly.

Victor digs his fingers into Reed's skin, definitely hard enough to bruise, and flicks his tongue across the slit of Reed's cock, and Reed hisses, and then chokes on it when Victor takes him as far down as he can.

After a few bobs, the weight of Reed's cocksliding across his tongue, he feels Reed's thighs tensing under his hands and swallows around the head of his cock - 

"Would you hurry up?" Johnny's voice interrupts, muffled by distance and the door of the supply closet, and Reed shudders and comes down Victor's throat with the tiniest whimper. 

Victor sits back on his heels, wiping saliva away from his mouth with a purposefully disinterested air, and gives Reed approximately three seconds to recover. Then, "You heard the man," he says. "Go give him that butane he asked for."

Reed looks an absolute mess - his bottom lip is red and glossy from biting it to keep quiet, his glasses are slightly askew, his hair ruffled from Victor's hands, his ridiculous polo wrinkled from where Victor had grabbed it and shoved Reed against the door of the supply cabinet. Even when he's managed to tuck his spent cock back inside his boxers and zip up the khakis and smooth the front of his shirt, it's obvious. 

Reed straightens his glasses, twice, darts a glance at Victor, and then hurries out of the closet. Without the butane.

He brings it out himself. Johnny is oblivious - he's teasing Reed about getting lost in all of 8 cubic feet, and still playing with the blowtorch - and Sue makes a dry comment about finding a tank of butane being a two man job, but Reed keeps sending less than subtle looks at Victor, pink high in his cheeks.

Victor smirks.


End file.
